


The Sickness of Thorin Oakenshield

by awrittendisaster, Dream_Seeker



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood and Gore, Dark Character, Evil Dwalin, Evil Thorin, F/M, Gen, Het and Slash, M/M, Multi, Other, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awrittendisaster/pseuds/awrittendisaster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Seeker/pseuds/Dream_Seeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the sickness took Thorin, it showed no mercy. The once gentle King was twisted beyond description. Erebor suffered brutally. The Dwarves suffered brutally. Could anyone help Thorin find his way back or was it too late? Would he and Dwalin reunite after being separated and going through mindfucking torture, gore and hell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abandon Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Dwalin written by: awrittendisaster  
> Thorin written by: dream_seeker
> 
> everyone else is just written as is.   
> Enjoy. :3

Erebor. A place which should have seen light and life. A place which should have known happiness, smiles, hard working Dwarrows raising families and enjoying life as it was to be.

Since the Sickness, the darkness had taken over Thorin, King under the Mountain. It had made its way into his mind, soul and heart, corrupting everything in him which used to be caring, loving and kind; the once proud King now twisted into a beast to rival and exceed that of the horrors put forth by Azog and his Orcs. They even deferred to the mad King, making a clear berth away from the borders of Erebor lest they be called into the tune of the madness as well.

Time passed and in its passing, Thorin grew more and more wretched. A darkness lay over the whole of Erebor; seldom was a day without pouring rain, lightening and a coldness which speared its way into the bodies of every denizen of the once safe Mountain.

The once empty dungeons were now packed with those who wronged the King both in slight and in grave ways. Emaciated Dwarven bodies lay on the hard ground, shivering from hunger, weakness and a loss of the will to live, while others did their best to not step on them. It was difficult as each cell, meant to hold two at most, were crammed full of at least a dozen prisoners. The air was still, hot and thick, allowing the ghastly stench of sweat, sickness, urine and other bodily functions to fester rampantly.

Only the best breed of Dwarrowdams were brought to Thorin for him to entertain himself with; most were lucky to survive three months under his hands. If they did survive, they were never the same again; once strong, they were withered to nothing recognisable. Those Dwarves who managed to avoid the dungeons or Thorin's chambers were worked very hard, relentlessly and with little nourishment and a few hours of sleep. Torture was freely given by the guards who were as tainted as Thorin was.

Hope was not found at Erebor.  
Hope did not exist.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.


	2. Embrace From Hell

  
  
The sickness that had plagued Erebor was one that Dwalin had fallen foul to. His means to escape was to keep himself distanced from Thorin, however his attempts left him to be left locked behind four walls,  with no means to escape.  The once mighty of Warrior Dwarves had slowly become the entire opposite of what he once was.   
  
Trapped within one of the Great Hall's, Dwalin became a prisoner to himself. The walls once made of stone and cold had become heated. From the outside the doors that led into his lair were covered in a thick, black substance. A simple touch was all it took, a curious hand to touch the tar and the unaware Dwarf was sucked through the doors and left to the hand of the monsters within. Flames replaced cold stone, heating the room to such a heat that the heat waves were visible and burnt into the flesh of any being. The sounds that filled the Hall were one of music to Dwalin's ears. Screams of Dwarrowdams, Dwarrows and even their young shook right through to the very core of his body. The smell of sweat, blood and burnt skin was stronger than the tell tale scent of urine.

A large chair carved from bone and skulls sat at one end of the room; days of hard work gone into the very structure. Dwalin no longer cared for what was beyond his prison, all he cared for now was being the King of his carnival. His superior ranking to be worshiped and recognised.  
  
Dressed in what was only a rag for a loin cloth, his boots and a fine material tied around his bald head, Dwalin could not hide the large oozing cuts that covered his torso. Each injury oozing blood and a slimy green liquid. His eyes were sunken back in his head, colour lacking in his cheeks, and a sword of great craftsmanship sat within the back muscles of his own body. His flesh and muscle being its holding sheath with blood still dripping from the open deep wound.  
  
What stood beside him was a tall, dark, hooded creature. Its face remained hidden for as long as Dwalin could remember, and all he knew was that it must have been a Necromancer of forms, or so he thought.  
  
***

The entirety of Erebor seemed to pulsate with its own heartbeat. Amidst the distant screams for mercy which never came, an ever present feeling of evil hung oppressent every where. There was no safe refuge, no place one could go to find a moments peace or sanity.   
  
Thorin sat upon his throne, staring into seemingly nothing but very aware of all which was around him. Chaos, fear, hopelessness and helplessness, terror. It was beautiful. The Sickness within him was a welcomed part of him, it was what made him whole and he fully embraced it. The power he held now was immeasurable and he _thrived_ on it. He could feel it moving through his veins with every pulse of his heart, he felt it slip deep inside him with every inhale and, upon every exhale, it would leave him somewhat, swirl around him as if playing the role of an attentive lover and would then reenter him with the next inhale.   
  
Always whispering to him, never silent but pushing him on and on to a greatness Thorin had only dreamed of. Now and then his mind would take him to a place, just for a moment, where the skies were of the brightest blue, Dwarves were smiling, healthy and clean, and no matter how few and far between said mind wanderings were, there was always another with him. Someone Thorin remembered yet couldn't. Someone Thorin would have given his life for. Someone who would have given his life for Thorin.   
  
Quick as they'd come, the visions would be gone. Lost in time until something brought them around again for a moment. Thorin wondered about that Someone. Male. Balding somewhat. Strong. Dangerous. Good friend.   
  
Friend..... Dwa-  
  
 _'I'm your friend. You only need me. I comfort you. I keep you going. I am your safety. I am your life. I am all you need. All others will kill you if you let them close. All conspire against you. I keep you safe. I care about you. I am you. You are me. You need no other. I am your friend. I love you. Let me care for you. You need no other._ '  The whisper flowed around and through Thorin, not ceasing until he closed his eyes and smiled, accepting the promises the whisper made, enjoying the pleasures which seeped through his body with every word whispered.   
  
"Yours." He breathed out, clutching the arm of the throne as his back arched as invisible tendrils of evil based pleasures shot through him from head to toe.   
  
He had nothing to fear as long as his protector and lover was there. Nothing to fear at all. The rest were his enemies and he ensured they suffered good for daring be around him.

***


End file.
